


Dreams of What's to Come

by skyofsilvermoonofgold



Series: The Unseen World [2]
Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, More Spell-casting Shenanigans, Prophetic Dreams, Queer Themes, does the writing hut have a name?, playing fast and loose with the timeline, pretentious symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 17:05:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16664776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyofsilvermoonofgold/pseuds/skyofsilvermoonofgold
Summary: Anne has a brilliant idea, and it works exactly as she expects it to. Better, even.





	Dreams of What's to Come

The brook by the schoolhouse babbles softly. Anne sits on the grassy bank with Diana and Cole flanking her, heads bent in close on either side. 

“It’s a new idea I’ve had,” she tells them excitedly, “For a spell.”

Cole nods seriously; Diana looks apprehensive. She fidgets with her hands, picking at the edges of her nails. Somehow she manages to make even a nervous tic look elegant. Admiration aside, Anne is worried about her reaction. 

“What is it, Diana?”

She meets her gaze, eyes wide. “I was just thinking… The magic, is it safe? We don’t know what it might be capable of, and I want to be sure you’re  _ safe _ , Anne, above anything else.”

“Of course! I solemnly swear, I know what I’m doing, and no harm shall come to me.”

Cole teases, “It had better not, or I’ll use my mystical powers to burn you to a crisp.” He waggles his fingers.

“Oh Cole, don’t say such things!”

“Only joking, Diana.”

Anne waves at them impatiently. “Do let me finish! I want to tell you about the spell.”

They quiet down and nod, faces serious. 

“I read in a book about scrying, a magic cast to see something far away, and I had a brilliant thought-- what if I could use the spell on a dream? Do it on myself, you know, and see things in my dreams when I fall asleep. Wouldn’t it be marvelous?”

“I wouldn’t think so,” says Cole in a low voice.

Diana says quickly, “I never remember my dreams.”

“Oh, but I do! And I have had trouble sleeping sometimes; it would be nice to dream pleasant things for a change. Besides, I would never cast it on you two, unless you wanted it. I only mean to try it for myself.” 

“Then that’s up to you.”

She brightens immediately. “I knew you would see it that way, Cole.”

No one else approaches them as they talk; for reasons Anne knows and her friends can only guess at, she is rarely bullied anymore. What does come her way is easier to bear. Even the knowledge that one has power can be uplifting to the soul.

“Did-- did you want us to help with it?” Diana asks.

She tilts her head to the side, considering for a moment. “I think this is the kind of thing I ought to do alone. But I wanted you both to know, and I thought you might have some advice on how to do the spell. What I was thinking was…”

  
  


That evening, Anne sits on her bed with her fingers laced around a cup of chamomile tea. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then picks up a small, leafy twig from her bedside table. Chapter Four of  _ Seeing Things Hidden _ says that a wand is not strictly necessary, but for her first try she wants to do things right. 

She stares intently into the bottom of the cup, catching murky reflections below the steaming amber swirling inside it, half-expecting to see visions. But of course, that would be ridiculous. The visions come after the spell is performed; this is only common sense.

She holds the twig above her tea, drawing a half-circle in the air one way and then the other, then sketching a triangle connecting three points on the rim of the cup. Cole suggested the triangle, for reasons that were clear to him and vague to Anne and Diana. There are no words for this working, but she feels herself at a loss without them, so she throws her head back to the ceiling and intones, “By the power of the Moon, let the truth be revealed!”

It sounds very impressive to her ears. 

When coming up with the spell, she had always drawn a blank when she reached this part. Should she pour the tea into a silver dish? Use it to water the tree that grew outside her window? Dump it over her head? Now she is struck by a simple, easy answer, so clear that she wonders she never thought of it before.

In a single motion, she raises the cup to her lips and drinks it all down. It burns her tongue a little bit, and she winces.

She waits for minutes on end-- nothing happens. Sighing, she sets down the cup and fidgets with her hair, but there is still no effect. After a few minutes more, she gives up and lies down to sleep.

 

_ Anne is standing on a hill, surrounded by forest on all sides.The light is strange and middling, like twilight, but with sharp, flat shadows that slice through the soft gray grass around her. She twists her head, looking from side to side, but cannot move her feet. This is not a cause for alarm; she simply notes it as a fact. There is a hush in the world around. A gentle chirping comes from the forest, something like crickets, but not quite the same.  _

_ She notices stars in the sky, faint and glimmering. They form constellations in regular patterns, like writing in a language she cannot read. Following them upward, her eyes are struck by a bright light. Her vision needs no time to adjust, and she sees the sun and the moon, brilliant and impossibly close, sharing the sky above her.  _

_ They each shine with inner light, one soft and silver, one radiant and golden. She feels warmth on her face, and basks in it without closing her eyes.  _

_ The moon and the sun are drawing closer to her– or possibly she is drifting into the sky toward them. That warmth is the same, constant and reassuring, with no hint of scorching danger. The three of them approach one another, until Anne is almost close enough to touch them. She stretches out her arms, but her fingertips cannot quite reach. They are suspended in slow, circular movement together, the stars fading away as her attention narrows. She will have to be the first one to move, completing the steps of the pattern and approaching the sun or the moon. It is her choice to make. _

 

She wakes to the sound of rain tapping against the window. The dream is there, burned in her mind, but her eyes are still heavy, and all she can think about is breakfast. Dragging herself out of bed, Anne shivers as her feet hit the floor; early spring is still chilly in the mornings. 

As she dresses, she wonders what she would look like as a blonde. Marginally prettier, perhaps.  _ Even my freckles would be less of a trial, were I not cursed with red hair, _ she thinks gloomily. But there does not seem to be much to do about it. She has looked through her borrowed books for helpful spells, but found nothing permanent.

“I do declare the weather is affecting your mood, Anne,” says Marilla when she slumps down the stairs. 

Anne hums noncommittally. She sits down at the table without so much as a good-morning, and Marilla raises her eyebrows as she bustles about the kitchen. Matthew notices the quiet, but thinks little of it. He communicates in much the same way.

Chewing on a slice of toast, Anne recalls the dream. The details float across her mind, joining together at odd angles and then breaking apart, whole and separated all at once.  _ How brilliantly strange it was; I’d like to see those stars again.  _ She yawns.

When her breakfast is finished, she picks up her lunch, puts on her coat and hat, and leaves the house. Matthew raises a hand in farewell, and she gives him a small smile. It is still raining; neither increasing or tapering off, a steady drizzle that fills the sky with dismal gray light. She trudges down the road, which is rapidly turning to mud.

She is halfway to school before she realizes that the spell has worked.

  
  


“Diana, Diana!”

Diana turns around and smiles to see her. “The magic worked?”

“Yes! I had a dream that was very different from any that I’ve had before; much clearer, like I was really there.”

“You saw the future?” Ruby pipes in. Anne does not question how she knows; Ruby has a gift for finding these things out.

“No, not really, Ruby. I don’t believe so, anyway. It was very strange… mostly about stars…” For some reason, she is reluctant to say more. 

Mr. Phillips sweeps his glare across the schoolroom, cowing children into silence, and class begins. 

 

That afternoon, Diana takes her aside after school and asks if everything is alright. 

“Of course,” Anne says, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I’m not sure, it’s only that you were… very quiet today.”

Anne looks into her dark, soulful eyes, shining with concern. Her chest constricts, partly from annoyance and partly from something she cannot quite name. Her friend has been worried for her, notices when she doesn’t speak. It has always been a worry of hers that Diana, like so many people, cares less for Anne than Anne does for her, but here is proof of the opposite. There’s a potential for it to be smothering, but that is eclipsed by the warm joy of being fussed over. It might not help, but it can certainly never hurt. 

“We aren’t supposed to talk in class, are we?” She smiles, more cheerfully than she feels. “Besides, I was  _ lost  _ in  _ contemplation. _ Such a house of learning sets the gears of my mind awhir.” 

Diana giggles, and the moment passes.

 

Back at Green Gables, Anne goes to bed early, announcing that she is completely exhausted and wants to get some sleep. She does not take any tea– tomorrow, she wants to stop pondering what mysterious meanings such dreams might have. Sliding between the covers and wrapping herself up, it is only a few minutes before she drifts off.

 

_ Anne is sitting on a train platform with a suitcase clutched in her hands. The air is full of steam and smoke, casting the world around her with a warm, shifting haze. Standing in front of her, facing away toward toward the railway timetable, is a woman. She looks vaguely familiar, but all Anne can make out from the back is her square shoulders, modest skirt, and heavy boots. It appears that she is waiting for someone.  _

_ A cough catches her attention. Sitting to her left is Josephine Barry, caught between youth and old age. In her hands she clutches a photograph.  _

_ “Wasn’t she beautiful?” she asks, but Anne cannot see who is in the picture. A single tear traces its way down the old lady’s cheek, turning into a pearl in midair as it falls. _

_ A rush of sound fills the air; the train has arrived. The steam thickens and plumes, obscuring everything. It clears as the train comes to a halt with a screech and a hiss. _

_ Three figures step out of the nearest car. The first is tall and elegant, with an equally elegant smile. The woman on the platform steps forward, and they embrace. For a second, both are dressed in severe black; then the illusion flickers and vanishes.  _

_ The second is glowing from within like a red-hot coal, and he brings with him the sound of the sea. He rubs his arms against a chill that Anne is used to, and radiates a vibrating mixture of hope and fear.  _

_ The third traveller is Gilbert Blythe.  _

 

Anne wakes with a start, fully alert. She knows that this was not an ordinary dream– the magic hasn’t stopped. Once her heart stops racing from the shock of being jolted out of sleep, she realizes that she had never made any provision in the spell for ending it. 

“This,” she says to her empty room, “Might be a problem.”

 

The whole day, she is distracted. Marilla asks if she slept at all, with such shadows under her eyes; Diana frets, Cole frowns, and Mr. Phillips shouts. She nods off in the middle of a reading and could swear his raging nearly set her on fire. But she is less affected than she would usually be– she’s consumed by a feeling of loneliness, of being set apart from others. Is this why magicians end up in the wilderness in all the stories, talking to the wind and the rain and their animal companions? It is very strange to think that none of the people sitting here by her have experienced the things she has been through, known the things that she knows.

The hours drift by like mist blown across the bluffs, and she finds herself kicking her feet on the path through the woods. She walks slowly, meandering to and fro, and somehow comes across the clearing where her writing hut sits with its mossy roof and inviting curtained door.

Inside, she curls up against the cold, wrapping her arms around her knees, and takes a deep breath. Then another. Without her eyes squeezed shut, she would have seen that the curtain covering the entrance flutters in and out with her breathing. The air feels sharp and clear in her lungs, tinged with the taste of earth and dried autumn leaves. Gradually her muscles unwind; her shoulders slump; she leans to the side and puts her head down on the ground. 

 

_ The trees around her are washed with glowing silver, standing out in the dark so that it looks like the wood is glowing. She walks slowly, searching for something she has no name for. A curious excitement sings through her nerves, drawing her forward. The branches overhead etch angular shapes into the night sky, but she does not find it ominous– just interesting.  _ Portentous _ is the word, telling her of things to come that she does not understand just yet. _

_ She walks, or perhaps is led, to a space where the trees clear away. There’s a light ahead of her, shimmering and constant, and without thinking anything of it, she approaches to see what it might be. _

_ A girl stands in the clearing, dark hair running in loose waves down her back. Her eyes are closed, Anne can see that from here, but all of her attention is visibly focused upward, to where the full moon shines in the dark like a round silver coin. Its rays touch the forest with pale light, lending the shine to the gnarled bark of the trees. The ground looks like it is covered with snow. _

_ Most notably, the moonlight touches the girl: her most of all. She soaks it up, letting herself be filled with light until she can no longer contain it, and it shines out from under her pale skin, frosting her eyelashes, lifting her up to the tips of her toes. She is barefoot: the outline of her body is visible through her flowing white nightgown.  _

_ Anne swallows; she has been moving forward without realizing. Now she stands close enough to touch her, but she doesn’t quite dare. The girl looks like a statue carved from the mountains of the moon, sanded and carved down to the last delicate detail, and at the same time very human.  _

_ Her heart is racing. She takes one more step forward, pulled by a magnet, and the girl’s eyes snap open. She is still glowing, pale and starlit, but her eyes are a soft familiar brown, and wide with surprise. Anne realizes she has seen this girl before– more than that, she has laughed with this girl, hugged her and smiled at her. She knows this girl’s name. _

_ She opens her mouth to ask–  _

 

“Anne?”

She is shaken awake to the sight of Marilla’s stern, concerned face. 

“Anne, you’ve slept late. And you fell asleep on the chair! Why in heaven’s name would you do such a silly thing?”

Disconcerted, she looks around. She is in her room, awkwardly sprawled in the corner chair, which is interesting. The last time she had checked, she was in her forest hut. 

_ Magic works in mysterious ways, _ she thinks to herself. 

Marilla is already bustling downstairs, muttering about perfectly good beds and getting breakfast ready. Anne stands up, stretching her arms and neck until she hears something pop, and rubs the sleep from her eyes. She looks in the mirror: she looks just as exhausted as she feels, and decides that even if nothing else can be done, she will rebraid her hair. She is getting better at it.

As she pulls a brush through her tangles, she feels that electric shiver from her dream, running up her spine as if she were Frankenstein’s monster coming to life. She borrowed that book from Aunt Josephine, and hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep the night after she finished it– it had been delightful. This, however, is confusing, and more than a little out of her depth. She decides to pay someone a visit. It is, perhaps, time to admit that she needs help.

 


End file.
